A Study In Supernatural
by Everything-In-Focus-94
Summary: Cupid gets a little hissy with Castiel and the Winchesters, and decided to take revenge, he makes Castiel fall in love- the problem being that he makes him fall in love with asexual, married to his work, detective Sherlock Holmes. Can it work out? Slash!
1. Chapter 1

A Study In Supernatural

Cupid fumed, watching silently and invisible as Castiel and the Winchester brothers appeared with a rustle of black feathers and a swish of a trench coat, the brothers rubbing their heads as they recovered from the impromptu and sudden transportation, relieving some of the spinning they were now experiencing.

Too long had they interfered with matters of the heart, his job, too long had they suspected him of... bad things? Now, he thought with a scheming smile on his face, he would show them how bad a cupid turned rotten can be.

Water dripped onto the angels face, causing him to frown up into the murky blackness, the navy blue of his eyes glinting in the lights that were framing the street.

"21st Century, London, England... of course." he muttered, frowning at the street name. Dean the elder Winchester and more experienced at angelic transport moved in line next to the angel, squinting to read the street name in the semi-blackness.

"Northumberland Street? Are you sure we're in the right place- why would Balthazar be here?" he gave a small wave around the area, looking at the small restaurants with dining couples smiling at each other, occasionally feeding each other off their forks.

"I sensed an angelic being here, it seemed powerful enough to be him, and this is his adopted "home town." The angel said slowly, raising his hand to scan the area. It took all of Cupids control not to laugh as he covered his signature with his stolen amulet. Dean sighed, running a hand over his hair.

"Well- I don't see him anywhere can we just g-" his thought pattern was broken as a group of girls with typical posh British accents walked past, eyeing him, the angel and his younger brother who had come to stand next to him, in appreciation. The two human's stared after their beautiful retreating figures, the angel oblivious to them, continued to scan.

"Maybe we can stay for whi- CAS!" Dean yelped, pulling the angel out of the way of an approaching cab that thankfully had been slowing down. The cabbie ignored Dean's angry yells giving them less than a small glance when he pulled up further down the road.

Cupid smiled, his eye on a couple in the opposite restaurant, watching as the younger man's eyes widened and he leant in to stare at the taxi. It was now or never, and he watched the man gather his coat and rush out of the door, stopping for a moment to fix his collar. The cabbie's passenger turned, watching the man as he frowned and eyed the taxi warily.

In a solid movement, Cupid reached for two arrows, one blue and one red, fixing the red one in his bow, whilst his other hand wrenched the amulet from his neck. Castiel stiffened, feeling the powers, build up mere metres away from him.

"Over –" the call caught in his throat as the red arrow hit him square in the heart, causing the angel to fall backwards, a soft red glow consuming his body. The brothers span, Dean wrenching the knife from Castiel's coat and running purposefully towards the Cupid.

The man across the road rushed forward, stumbling into an oncoming car as he was struck in the chest by an invisible blue arrow, aimed from the Cupid's arrow, mere moments before Dean stuck the sword into his heart, and his cruel bloodied laugh, escaped his lips as he exploded into blackened, heart shaped light. The man hit stumbled, falling to the floor and landing heavily on the road the other side of the car.

His colleague stopped in his tracks, heaving the man to the pavement where he sat breathing heavily, his face flushed and sweating.

"Are you alright? Answer me-"I'm fine!" his colleagues fussing words were stopped by a sharp yell from the winded man. Sam ran forward, being careful not to step on the man's heavy navy coat that was fanned around him.

"I saw what happened. Are you okay?" he said softly, peering into the man's ice blue eyes. They sharpened, the effect lessened by the fact that he still seemed extremely winded and fragile.

"Fine!" he snapped once more, trying to heave himself back to his feet, wobbling and clutching to the smaller, blonde man for support.

Dean ran over to his angel, who was resting heavily against a solid brick wall, eyes shut, his hand clamped over his heart, breathing as heavily as recovered from the direct shot to the heart.

"Are you ok... Cas? CAS! Are you okay?" he said desperately, trying to awaken his friend. Castiel's eyes flew open, the pupils in them dilating for a split second before returning to their usual size .He took a deep breath and ran a hand over his head.

"I'm ok Dean, I was hit by a-"his nostrils flared like a dog picking up on a scent, his head turning and his eyes resting on the man who is still being propped up by his friend, admittedly with a bit of help from Sam who has his hand around the man's back, ensuring he doesn't collapse back to the floor.

In a tiny movement Castiel bolted, crossing the road without looking, narrowly avoiding the same fate as the other struck man. He stopped in front of the man, whose knees immediately stopped wobbling as he looked the angel in the eye, a light blush creeping across his alabaster, sharply cheekbones face. His mouth gaped open for a split moment, before Castiel rushed forwards once more, pushing the man's body into the wall and his lips against his.

The kiss was manic, teeth, tongues and hands clashed and fought for dominance in the split second that their lips were locked together. With a yell of anger the friend of the man that Castiel had just practically assaulted, he was pulled away and punched in the face. And of course, he took it in the way that all angels could.

"Fuc- hell..." the man yelped, holding his knuckle under his armpit, tears springing into his eyes. The man, remained frozen to the wall, his eyes wide and his own knuckles even whiter than usual. He gently touched the man who was now hopping up and down an impressive array of expletives escaping his lips. Castiel growled, as he watched his man touch this _other man._

"John- calm down. I'm sure there's a valid explanation for this" the man whispered soothingly, as the man's red face and angry features returned, locking eyes with the equally fuming angel, who was reaching for his missing knife. Dean placed a hand on Castiel's shoulder, noting the pleading look that crossed John's friends face.

"You wouldn't believe it if we told you" he said softly. A smirk crossed across the man's face, the expression seemed at home there. Removing his hand from John he moved forward and held his hand out to Dean.

"Sherlock Holmes... And try me" he said with a wink.


	2. Chapter 2

The Book Of Revelations

It seemed that even Sherlock's incredible brain had its limitations as he slumped onto the couch at 221b Baker Street, massaging his aching head with his palms, one eye on the _angel_ who was standing at his fire-place, a distracted and hungry look in his eyes as he watched the detective.

John perched awkwardly on the couches arm rested, slightly uncomfortable at the sudden influx of extremely tall men in his tiny 2 bedroom flat. Tall men, who were miles taller than him, one of them even dwarfing his ridiculously tall flatmate, muscles bulging from beneath his jacket, his arms crossed making them bulge even more.

"So... Castiel-" he paused, the name sounding foreign on his tongue, too religious for a man who discounted religion in favour of science and medicine at a young age. The man in the dirty trench coat locked eyes with him from across the room, tearing his eyes away from his flatmates reclining figure.

"Is an angel, and was shot as well as Sherlock by a cupid's bow." the taller man finished as John floundered for words. He frowned at the two other men, receiving a stony glare in return.

"I'm sorry, and you two are? The Angels Keeper" he snapped in question. The shorter man's whispered answer of "we might as well be" was cut across by Sherlock's snapped retort.

"Don't be an idiot John... They're hunters. Demon hunters." He finished, regarding the other men in the room through a gap in his long, pale fingers. The two brothers and the angels eyes snapped to him, confusion and panic etched on their face.

"How?" Dean muttered in disbelief. John barely had time to groan before Sherlock threw himself from his laying position, sitting upright and staring incredibly at the brothers, and he hastily ran into the kitchen with a mutter of "making tea".

"Simple. They're both wearing running shoes, typical for someone who has to run long distances, quickly at short notice. Dirty though, and old, they haven't had time to change them or even take care of them. They have kept _themselves_ in peak physical condition however, even though the older brother is now closing in on an age where his condition will be... hindered. So people that have to run a lot, at short notice, have to be involved in some kind of law enforcement. Although the old brother did use the sword on the cupid with some ease, indicating that he was used to handling such a weapon, so therefore he is more of a hunter than- policeman" he practically hissed, receiving a stammer of incredibility from Dean. He ignored this continuing on his with his observations.

"There's a distinct smell of... sulphur I believe it to be, radiating from the eldest one, clearly he didn't have time to change his clothes after their last hunt before Ca- the angel, pulled him and his brother, down to London to find this cupid. Now- I know for a fact that sulphur is considered an _evil _element and many a _demon _produces this when killed. So, peak condition, sulphur and frankly the alarming array of supernatural weapons that the angel is carrying means demon hunters. Wasn't a difficult leap." he said with an air of, idiots in his voice. The Winchesters gaped, Dean inhaling and trying to figure out how this man had smelt the sulphur from their last hunt on him.

"We- we- never said we were brothers" Sam stammered. Dean thought for a moment before locking eyes with the detective. Sherlock sighed, cocking an eyebrow at Dean.

"With matching accents- speech patterns even and the same green allele mixed into two different variants, of course your brothers." he muttered, his piercing blue eyes staring back at them. The Winchester turned, roaming their eyes over each other, gazing deep into each other's eyes.

"What the hell are you anyway? Some- soul, selling, crazy, ass human?" Dean spat, trying to regain some ground on the bored looking detective. He let a loud breath out of his nose, a sigh escaping his lips mere seconds later.

"No- merely a _human ... _albeit with above average intelligence. Are you so lacking of it in Texas that you can't recognise it when you encounter it?" he said coolly. Dean let out a strangled yell and was only stopped attacking the man by Castiel's calming hand on his shoulder. He'd jumped across the room, coming to the rescue of the man who he'd forcibly been made to fall in love with.

For the first time of the evening, Sherlock looked shocked, his eyes flickering from the space where the angel, to the space where he had re-appeared, taking in the slender but muscled arms of the angel, tensed in order to defend his loved one if the case demanded it.

The angel turned, locking eyes with the detective, before they flickered over the man's sharp, strange but beautiful face, causing a silent whoosh to escape his lips at the intensity of the man's silencing blue gaze.

The angel returned his gaze to the elder brother, the anger in his eyes hardening ever so slightly.

"I would appreciate Dean, if you didn't attack him. He nearly experienced sexual abuse as a child and is unlikely to fight bac-"his words were cut off from a spluttered yell from the kitchen and a slight whimper escaping Sherlock's lips. John rushed from the kitchen, standing immediately in front of the couch face his flushed flatmate.

"You-YOU! No... No- you would have...told-me. No... Sherlock?" he asked gently. Sherlock's ferocious gaze was locked on the angel who continued to stare back, eyes soft and caring. It was increasingly irritating.

"I would have appreciated that not being said... But- yes, John. I did" he said, his eyes flickering back to the doctor, who's knees wobbled from the sudden admittance of the horrific abuse.

A thousand questions rushed into John's mind. Sam pursed his lips and gestured with his head for Dean to move into the kitchen, using John's previous excuse of making tea to excuse them. They had to practically drag an unwilling Castiel with them.

"How... Who... How old were you?" John finally managed after a moment of silence. Sherlock bit the bottom of his lip, looking uncharacteristically fragile and worried, a deep frown line appearing on his forehead as his hands reached up to cup his face.

"I was... 11. And to answer your second question, it was my fat- my _step- _father. My mother's second husband after mine and Mycroft's father died." He said softly, his face falling to face his lap, the black curls falling into his devastated face.

"After my step-sister was born... he, he didn't want his wife's children from a previous marriage cluttering up the place. So he used any mean's to try and get me to leave, Mycroft already had a flat down here, I assume he hoped I would go live with him. Then, one night we got into an argument, and he pinned me to my bed. I'm sure you can imagine what nearly happened next." he said, his voice dropping about four octaves, the volume decreasing significantly and face morphing into an expressionless mask.

"What happened to him?" John said, his hand gently enclosing over Sherlock's, in an intimate but comforting gesture. Sherlock's breath heaved, shifting visibly in his seat, the uncomfortable atmosphere thickening.

"He killed himself- nearly took me with him. He abducted me and drove us to Dover, tried to push me off the cliffs there. Mycroft arrived just in time, he... only managed to save me." He shot John a look, who was sitting pursed lipped.

"Don't think badly of my brother, he would have saved us both but he could only catch me when I dragged Ian over the cliff. I'm sure it would have pleased Mycroft greatly to see him brought to justice- but his body was never found." He said softly, avoiding John's eyes. John started, a small splutter escaping his lips once more.

"You think- I'd think badly of Mycroft. He saved your life Sherlock- without that I'd never have met you .I'm just... wondering why you never told me- and how that bloody angel knew about it" he muttered casting an eye over towards the kitchen. Sherlock smiled, nodding, glad that the diffusion had been lifted somewhat.

* * *

><p><strong>Authors Note: There you go... A bit more of this frankly rather bizarre crossover. Dear god, I love this pairing though :D And, yeah, as you probably gathered I'm giving Sherlock a bit of a tragic past which made him lead up to this whole, self confessed socio-path thing. And Castiel will be part of what saves him in the end. Oh yeah, would you guys totally against like a... sub-pairing? In the story? Like a story-ception, a story within a story? With JohnSam, or maybe Dean/Molly (I love these ideas!). Yes or no guys? Oh and warning in the next chapter there be boy on boy kissing, nothing to rampant but it's hinted.**


	3. Chapter 3

**WARNING: HERE BE SLASH. NO LIKEY? TURN AWAY NOW!**

The Curse of Love

Sherlock's left eye flashed open, finding and looking at the dark figure that was watching him in the semi-darkness of the living room. He smiled knowing immediately from the unearthly glow in his heart who it was, clicking the light beside him on, illuminating his watching angel.

"Castiel" he said gently, receiving a gentle nod in response. He shifted, allowing the angel to sit down on the sofa where Sherlock's feet had just been. The angel's eyes were locked on his face, the blueness he'd first seen when he'd met the angel still as intense and the innocent and curious gaze still remained.

"You... don't sleep do you" they both muttered at the same time, causing a blush to flash up on Sherlock's face and a faint smile to light up the angels face.

"No... I normally, watch- over Dean at night" Castiel continued, slowly as if the language was new on his tongue and the words were not coming to him quite as quick as they should. Sherlock's eyebrow twitched and the side of his mouth lifted upwards.

"Should I be jealous?" he said teasingly. Castiel's brow furrowed into a frown, his head cocking to one side.

"Jealousy is a sin. I would not wish you to sin in any-way." he said, an air of confusion about him. Sherlock suppressed a groan, remembering the conversation John and Dean had, had whilst they were fixing Sherlock's bed for the brothers to share. Castiel was a bit... literal.

"No- I didn't mean-" " Although, one of the other sins is plaguing me right now" the angel interjected, his voice giving off a hint of animalism. Sherlock frowned.

_The seven deadly sins? Jealousy (obviously), Wrath, Sloth, Gluttony, Pride, Greed and Lu- _oh.

Despite himself Sherlock felt his cheeks beginning to burn. It was rather likely that the same sin was being presented in his own mind and body and with the angel's eyes boring into his in that mind-reading manner of his.

Castiel enclosed the space between them, moving his face perilously close to the detectives, so that his coat fanned over the man's hardening body and the ghost of his breath touched his lips, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

His folded body shifted forward seemingly on its own accord, moving one of his knees in between the angel's legs, eliciting a small gasp from the angel. His mouth pursed, tensing in anticipation and longing and slowly but surely he pressed his lips to the angels soft full ones.

Castiel let out a deep sigh, vibrating his vocal cords in a lion-like growl that went straight to Sherlock's stomach, making a small whimper escape his lips, causing Castiel's body to harden as Sherlock ran his finger-tips along the angels scalp, pressing his nails into the soft skin there in an attempt to control the angels primal urges to jump him then and there. An even lower growl threw that plan out of the window and Castiel leapt forward, pushing the detective backwards, pinning his lithe body between his own and the soft material of his sofa.

They remained like that for a moment, the identical glows in both their chests filtering outwards and giving the room a heady, stuffy feel to it. Sherlock was the one to make the next move, moving his hands up the arms that had commanded his attention, all throughout the day, feeling the tensed, warm skin, the gentle folds of muscles, before shrugging the trench-coat from the angel's shoulders.

Castiel breathed a heady sigh again, pressing his lips back to the detective neck, sucking, nipping and caressing the soft skin there. Sherlock responded, pressing his hips closer to the angel's causing a delicious friction that neither had felt in a long time, rubbing hard and fast to each other, both allowing pitiful moans to escape from closed mouths, Sherlock's eyes rolling backwards into his head as his hips jutted upwards in time to Castiel's rutting.

Castiel's tie, jacket and shirt joined the pile that now contained his trench-coat and Sherlock's dressing gown, vest and pyjama trousers. Sherlock fumbled for Castiel's belt, desperate for more but was halted as a hand pushed him slowly backwards into sofa. Castiel stared down at him, his normally blue eyes, black with desire as he pressed a kiss against Sherlock's collar bone.

It took all of Sherlock's will power not to cry out then and there. Instead he slammed his eyes shut, relying on all his other senses to see what Castiel was doing and where he was. A hand enclosing around his wrist, the soft digits of his fingers touching his calloused from experiment's hands. Another hand trailing down his waist, those fingers touching his growing length through the soft cotton of his underwear. Lips near his hip bone, hot, wet and sucking.

Dear god! Sherlock's hips jutted upwards, crying out with shock and ecstasy, his eyes flying open to meet the devilish stare in Castiel's eyes. They seemed to dance with golden specks, a soft and wide-toothed smile on his lips.

Their lips met again, Castiel holding Sherlock's hands above his head with one solid grip and the other trying desperately to remove his trousers. Sherlock groaned, his head going light as he fell into a sea of lust and everything was him and Castiel and everything was perfect. Lips touched. Hands caressed. Skin met skin with...

"WHAT THE UTTER FUCK IS GOING ON HERE?" "CAS WHAT THE HELL!" "Oh I did not want to see THAT!" a chorus of voices called from the doorway. The two men on the sofa were jolted from their blissful haze, eyes and faces snapping up to meet the three men in the doorway.

"John..." Sherlock whispered, his fingers still roaming over Castiel's chest much to the disgust of the men watching them. John dropped his gun to his side and ran over to the pair, pulling the angel off his flatmate. He punched him across the face, crying out in pain once more as his hand collided with the angels face with a sickening crack.

Castiel's eyes remained on Sherlock, his breath still heaving, and his face a light red. He looked rather normal... Sherlock on the other hand looked utterly debauched. Red splotches littered his face, neck and body where the angels lips had been sucking and biting, his hair stood up on end from the angels hands and he was naked bar his underwear.

Sam chucked over Castiel's trench-coat, allowing the detective to regain some dignity by covering himself.

"Lust -spell... "Castiel managed to heave out, closing his eyes to keep them off the object of his desire.

John stormed over to the angel, his hurt hand hanging limply on one side and pushed him into the fireplace.

"What the hell did you think you were doing? You know his past, you knew before me. You knew about his step-father" John cried, immediately regretting it as a howl came from his flatmate.

"Sherlock?" he whispered, looking at the man, who had doubled over, his eyes tightly shut and his face contorted in pain. The angel was over to him a split second before John, laying a hand on his head, closing his eyes to concentrate.

Sherlock thrashed, throwing his arms, legs and hands around, it took all the men in the room to hold him down as Castiel took his reading.

"Sleep _my love_..." Castiel whispered finally, and Sherlock bolted upwards before falling backwards, his chest still heaving, his face sweating and mouth muttering in another language as the sickly parlour he was beginning to display took hold.

Castiel's eyes flickered open, looking down at his loved one, brushing the soft curls from his sweaty forehead.

"He's been cursed." He whispered, making sure the other men in the room didn't see the tears that threatened to form in his eyes.

"Which means?" Dean said slowly, his face concerned not wanting to believe the truth.

"Cupid... is still alive. And he has a accomplice" Castiel whispered in a low whisper, doing his shirt back up with his eyes closed.

"But...Bu- you can heal him right" John whispered, clutching at Castiel's arm, his fingers tight enough to cause bruises. Castiel's eyes rose to meet John's.

"This... is beyond my control. We need to kill the witch or demon that placed this curse on him... Otherwise Sherlock will die." He said matter of fact, his face not betraying any of the emotions that were flooding through the angel's heart.

John let out a tiny wracking sob and collapsed into the angel's arms. Castiel froze for a moment, before enclosing his arms around the shaking man. It appeared he wasn't the only one in the room that loved the man lying before them.

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><p><strong>AUTHORS NOTE: ARGH! Cliffhanger I know :) I'm evil... So, Castiel isn't the only one in love with Sherlock? And is someone else in love with him? Ohhh, love-squares, got to... love them ^^<strong>


	4. Chapter 4

_He saw _him_. His hands enclosed around Sherlock's legs, the rough calloused fingers clutching at the young skin near the top of his thigh. His breath ghosted over Sherlock's neck, his words whispering what a 'dirty little whore' Sherlock was. Sherlock's young eyes squeezed closed and he breathed heavily, he knew how this would end, mother would walk in any second, any second now. Any._

_His lips broke the skin on Sherlock's neck, his teeth sharpening and his eyes turning a glittering black- in a second. Ian's face broke above him, his lips twisting into a distorted grin. _

"_I can still get in here Sherlock- all these years later." He grinned, pressing a long nailed finger to Sherlock's forehead. Sherlock's eyes flashed open and down his own body, his adult form pinned beneath the demon-like figure before, the demon with Ian's face. It morphed, the evil grin of Moriarty coming into view, his lips plump and blood-red in the moonlight, his teeth glinting in the darkness. The man, demon?'s, hands scuttled down his legs, pushing them upwards, manipulating him as one would play with a doll. _

_Sherlock screamed._

_..._

Sherlock screamed in his sleep, his heart rate doubling as John kept his finger on his friend's wrist. The juddering of the Impala rocked the men as the American car bumped over the sleeping policeman. Dean looked backwards; a curse escaping his lips as he saw the bloodless figure, muscles, face contorted a scene like something from a horror film in the back seat of his car.

The angel was beside him in a second, gently touching the screaming man's forehead, smoothing back the hair from his sweat drenched brow. Sherlock's hand flew upwards but he gently took it in his hand, allowing the stilling man to clutch onto him for comfort.

"Dean, we need to stop. Sherlock's fading fa-"suddenly he halted, his face pricking to upwards the sky.

"Be right back. John-"Castiel looked pointedly at the doctor who was cradling Sherlock in his lap.

"Keep him warm, _try_ to keep him still." John nodded, locking eyes with the angel. Castiel inclined his head towards the man, his expression hard but his eyes soft as he peered down at Sherlock. With that he disappeared from view.

..

"Sariel, what do you want?" Castiel hissed as he popped into view, the soft rustle of wings harsher than Castiel's normally gentle rustle of wings as soft as pillow down, his eyes matching the thunder that echoed around the room.

His eyes widened in shock as he saw his friend from the garrison, chained to a large metal chair in the middle of the darkness, tape across his mouth and a angel sword sunk into his chest.

Not quite a fatal wound, but far from comfortable Sariel's hand was pressed against the wound and every so often his chest would heave, his fingers twitching blindly against the blade. Castiel dropped to his knees before Sariel's half-dead frame, cupping his brother's cold, bloodless face in his hands.

"Shouldn't have come Castiel. I'm sorry- they" his face contorted in pain as another blade forced its way into the angels shoulders, causing a quiet howl of pain to escape his pursed lips. Serial's eyes glowed for a moment before he slumped forward, eyes wide open and seeing no longer, the shadow of his wings blasted into the concrete behind him.

A man walked from behind him shadows, moving gracefully as he took steps towards Castiel. An angel sword was clasped in his hands, the newly spilled blood dripping thickly down the blade pooling at

The Angel of Thursday took a tiny step backwards, his own sword forming at his waist, a pure white beam of pure silver glinting in the gloom as he drew it upwards, it's point facing the demon-like creature that was taking small, slow steps towards him.

"Hello Castiel, I see you've met my – companion" a smooth English voice whispered mere inches from his ear, causing the minute hairs on the back of his neck to stand on edge. He tried to turn, finding himself frozen, every muscle locked in position.

"Crowley-" Castiel whispered, his eyes slamming shut. He heard a rustle, a soft brush of red-hot calloused fingertips brushing over his face.

"Oh, he's very pretty, I could just wear his skin as a suit. Can I just, skin him alive?" a accent tinged high pitched, psychotic voice filled his ears and his eyes flew open to be filled with a new man's face, his brown eyes directly in his eye-line, glinting with evil intention. Crowley walked into view, placing a calming hand on the accented man and moving him away from Castiel's deadlocked stare.

"Cas, meet Jim Moriarty, my son." Crowley said slowly, looking down at the man with an almost tender look in his eyes. Castiel's face curled into a frown and he looked down in disgust at the half-human, half-demon creature.

Jim's mouth curled upwards in reply, his tongue coming up to meet his teeth.

"I believe you know a friend of mine- a Mr Sherlock Holmes?" Jim whispered, a tinge in his voice that would rival the devil himself, sweeping his hand back to reveal a blood-stained Dean and John cradling a limp Sherlock behind them.

Castiel struggled against his bonds, his mouth failing to open, only able to move his eyes from the demons before him and the bloodied men, standing in a crumpled barricade around the stirring detective.

Sherlock's bright silver eyes flew open and met Castiels blue one. A moment's recognition passed across his features, before he opened his mouth and a ear-drum piercing shriek erupted from his lungs once more.


End file.
